


A Part Of Something

by laschatzi



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, emma going after Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laschatzi/pseuds/laschatzi
Summary: a post-3x20 canon divergence where Zelena’s portal never opens. Just when Emma has made up her mind about a possible future for herself and Henry in Storybrooke, she discovers that Killian is planning to leave.





	A Part Of Something

“ _Home is a place, when you leave you just miss it. So yeah, I'm gonna keep running until I feel that.”_

“ _So you're just gonna leave your parents then. Don't you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?” Killian laid as much brokenness and longing as he dared to in his voice._

“ _Of course I care,” Emma confirmed with honesty and regret in her eyes. “I just have to do what's right for me and Henry.”_

_So that was it. She simply wasn't ready yet, was still too afraid to accept. He knew what he had to do. Deliberately putting some physical distance between them, he leaned back a little, only a twitching muscle in his jaw betraying his tension. “Well, then,” he replied in a controlled voice, “Of course you have to do what you have to do.” Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise, his sudden surrender completely unexpected. He tilted his head. “Who knows, maybe you'll find what you're searching for when you leave.”_

_She was a little confused that he seemed to simply give up, and she was also confused that she felt strangely about that... she told herself she wasn't disappointed, just surprised. “Thank you,” she managed to cover it up. “For understanding.”_

The exchange is still wavering through her mind the next day, yet Emma's steps are determined when she's on her way to the Mayor's mansion. She's parked her car a few blocks away, and she's walking, wanting to take the opportunity to sort her thoughts, the mess of emotions that have been running through her veins for the last 24 hours. She's made a decision that still weighs heavy on her, and she needs that walk to calm her nerves before she talks to Regina about it.

It's not like she's changed her mind – she's still planning to do what's best for her son, and that's exactly what she's about to tell Henry's other mom. Again, Hook's words reverberate in her head, because of fucking course he _always_ has to offer his unsolicited advice. _What's best for him... or for you?_ he asked, his piercing blue eyes searching hers. _Why are you so scared of staying?_ he probed, _I think it's because you can see a future here, a happy one._ She had no other answer than to rebuff him rudely and avoid to give an honest answer otherwise, but now isn't the time for avoidance, not with her son's future on the line. And the thought of her son's future is what, in the end, tipped the scales.

When Emma finally arrives at the Mayor's mansion she searches her soul one last time, but she finds that she's sure about her decision, and so she raises her hand to knock. Before her knuckles touch the wood, however, the door opens, and much to her bewilderment, she finds herself face to face with Hook of all people.

Completely taken aback, she lets out a little gasp and almost stumbles a step backwards. “What are you doing here?” she blurts out.

His expression looks about as shocked as she feels, and he licks his lips nervously, obviously not really pleased to see her, and the odd thought shoots through her mind that that must be a first. “Swan,” he greets her with a little hesitation in his voice and brings up his hand to scratch behind his ear, another sure sign of his nervousness. “Ah, just a matter of...” he interrupts himself and waves his hand vaguely, “just an information I sought.”

His evasive behavior reminds her very much of how he acted when he was hiding the fact from her that the Wicked Witch had cursed him (his _lips_ , she reminds herself) to have an advantage in defeating the heroes. Her superpower tells her that he isn't exactly lying, but all her tingling senses tell her that he's hiding something from her.

She frowns and eyes him suspiciously. “What could you possibly–”

“Were you looking for me, Miss Swan?” Regina has appeared behind his tall, leather-clad figure, and her impatient, always slightly haughty voice interrupts the awkward exchange. Hook seizes the opportunity to make his exit quickly, after an almost curt head tilt in her direction that doesn't really qualify as a bow by his standards. Emma's clueless gaze follows him, completely baffled. The fact that Hook would hide something from her is deeply unsettling, and she can't suppress the thought that it must be something serious. Something that has to do with him personally, because currently there are no villains in town – at least not that she knows of. She hopes for him to turn around to look at her, so maybe she could read something in his face, but he doesn't, he keeps striding on the sidewalk with long, determined steps.

“Miss Swan?!” Regina's voice rips her from her thoughts, a little louder and more severe now, also cooler than she's been with her lately. Which Emma understands completely, as Henry's other mom is facing the prospect of having to say goodbye to him again, even if it's not a terrible, seemingly forever-goodbye like last time.

She snaps out of it; she'll deal later with Hook. “Yeah,” she replies and stuffs her hands in the pockets of her jeans, “I've come to see you. Do you have a minute?”

Regina huffs, her attitude a little exaggerated, but she steps aside. “Well, I was getting ready to leave for your parents' celebration, but as I've already been disturbed...”

With a reluctant wave of her hand, she bids Emma inside, but she doesn't offer her to come in further. Emma doesn't blame her.

“I wanted to talk to you about Henry,” she starts and draws a deep breath. Regina waits, but doesn't reply. “I want what's best for him,” Emma assures, “I truly do. And I really believe that he'd be safer in New York... at least safer from stuff like... like... portals and witches and dark magic.” Regina crosses her arms, presses her lips together and says nothing, a dark cloud brewing behind her brows as Emma continues, “And he was happy there, he really was.” Regina looks away, more pained than angry now, and Emma thinks surprisingly fondly that Regina has indeed come a long way: Henry's happiness seems more important to her than anything else. Determined to cut to the chase and not torment the other woman longer than necessary, she finally says what she's come here to say, “But, the thing is... he could never be happy there _now_ , that he remembers.” Regina's dark eyes shoot to hers again. Emma combs her hair behind her ears with booth hands, a little nervous now, because she's about to say this aloud for the first time – there will be no going back from there, she's sworn to herself. “His family, his home... it's here,” she admits, “I can't take that from him.”

Regina unfolds her arms in a slow, controlled move. “Does that mean you're not leaving?” she probes almost sternly, yet unable to keep the hope from seeping into her low voice.

Emma shrugs. “Yeah, well... it's a package deal,” she replies and smiles a little crookedly. “If he's staying, I'm staying. You're not getting rid of me so soon.” They're past that, but both women aren't too fond of things getting too emotional, and so keeping it on a bantering level seems a good idea.

Regina returns the smile and doesn't forget to raise the sassy eyebrow. “Well, then... welcome to Storybrooke, Miss Swan... Emma,” she adds a little stiffly.

Emma snorts a little laugh, somehow relieved that she's brave enough to stick to her decision and take that step. “Thanks.” She clears her throat. “About Henry...”

Regina waves her off. “We can figure out something once you've settled in for good.” Emma nods, and Regina suggests, “You might want to spread the news as soon as possible... _someone's_ particularly interested in that topic.” She purses her lips in an ironic smile and adds, “Annoyingly so.” Emma frowns, and Regina rolls her eyes. “I'm talking about Captain Guyliner, of course,” she clarifies dryly. “He's been quite out of sorts since–”

“Hook,” Emma interrupts pensively, but without commenting on his particular interest Regina was so eager to point out, “right. What was he even doing here earlier?” she asks. “What did he want?”

Regina huffs. “Not that it's my job to play Cupid, but–“ She flicks her wrist up to cut off Emma's protest and continues, “He was indeed seeking a bit of information from me. Or, advice, if you want.”

Emma is even more confused. “Advice?” she echoes. “Advice on what?”

“Why don't you just ask him yourself?” Regina retorts impatiently.

But Emma doesn't relent. “Regina, what's up?” she inquires firmly. “Advice on what?”

Regina rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed now. “On leaving town,” she answers reluctantly.

Emma thinks she's heard wrong. “ _What?!_ ”

“That's enough,” Regina snaps, “I've already said too much.” She takes three quick steps past Emma and opens the door again, nodding sharply towards the exit. “Go talk to your boyfriend and sort it out by yourself.”

“He's _not_ my–“

“Alright, Emma,” she cuts her off gruffly, “whatever you say. Just _go_.”

She's almost running the few blocks to her car. On her way to the docks, because _where else_ would he be, she's rough with her beloved yellow bug, slamming the door and thrusting in the gears. Her grip on the wheel is so hard that her knuckles turn white. Everything about her seems to be stiff and square and hard – the set of her shoulders, the tight line of her lips. She's furious, and she doesn't even know why. No, wait – she _knows_ why. Her instincts were right – he's hiding something from her, so that's not what shocks her. But _what_ he's hiding is like a sucker punch. _Leaving town._ He's sought Regina's advice for leaving town. Leaving _her_. After all his pestering her, roasting her about her plans, accusing her of running away... and now he's turning his back on her, the one she'd never thought would leave her side...

Emma frowns and briefly shakes her head, chastising herself for her thoughts. It's not like he owes her anything, is it? But then, _he_ was the one talking about a future, a happy future he accused her of being afraid of... _Let me guess, with you?_ she snapped at him, and he didn't have the opportunity to answer her. But the way he was constantly at her heels, flinging innuendos her way, flirting, comforting and supporting her, being always there when she needed him... she really thought it meant something. She really thought _she_ meant something.

 _What the actual fuck_ , she thinks, _don't even go there, girl._ It doesn't matter what she means to him, she doesn't even know what _he_ means to _her_. It would be stupid to deny that he _does_ mean something to her, of course he does. _Of course I care_. She can admit that much, she does care for him. Weirdly enough, thinking of who he is and how they met, he's become a friend, her _best_ friend, if she doesn't count blood relatives. Her best friend, yes. Further than that – she hasn't ever thought, hasn't dared to think. And it hasn't been necessary to figure it out, to figure out what exactly it is between them, that trust, that spark, that... _affection_. She barely has been able to breathe since he brought her back from New York, back into this madness he insists is her home... flying monkeys, lost memories and the Wicked Witch trying to steal her unborn baby brother made it conveniently easy to push the question about her feelings for Hook to the back of her mind and avoid it altogether.

She'd gladly continue to avoid it for a little longer, but obviously she's running out of time, because something's about to happen she never even considered the possibility of: Hook... _Killian_... leaving. A sinking feeling settles low in her stomach when she thinks he might be already gone, even though she refuses to think he would leave without a word... but then – why wouldn't he? Honestly, everyone in her life she ever cared about has betrayed and abandoned her in the end, at least at some point. Except for Henry. And, well, except for...

Emma slams her foot down on the brake when she arrives at the docks and scans the edge of the water for the figure in black. She spots him not far away, sitting on a bench, looking at the horizon... probably longingly, she thinks; it feels like a stab to her heart, and that's highly unsettling by itself. She can't see his expression because she's approaching him from behind, and the churning in her stomach grows stronger. His fingers are restlessly playing with his flask, but he's not drinking, at least not at the moment.

She raises her chin in determination (about what, she doesn't know), marches up to the bench and slumps down beside him, startling him.

“Swan!” he scolds. “You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

She ignores his complaint and gives him a tight-lipped glare instead. “So, you're still here,” she states unnecessarily, her voice clipped.

He tilts his head and scrutinizes her with narrowed eyes. “Why yes, where would I be?”

“You tell me!” Emma blurts out in ire. “Weren't you gonna leave?”

He closes his eyes in exasperation and sighs. “Regina. She told you.”

She's furious that he doesn't even try to deny it. “So you were gonna sail into the sunset without even saying a word of goodbye?” she snaps in disbelief, gesturing towards the horizon in a fierce move.

Killian throws her a glance she can't quite decipher before retorting, “What? Of course not, I never had the intention to–“

“Oh no, you didn't?!” she interrupts angrily and huffs. “You never even mentioned you were planning to leave. Sounds like a secret escape to me.”

That muscle in his jaw twitches, always a sure sign that he's upset. “You, on the other hand, made your intentions very clear,” he growls.

He has nerve to be upset and turning the tables against her again! She presses her lips into a thin, stubborn line. “I'm not having this conversation with you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, then what kind of discourse exactly is it we're having right now, love?” he asks quietly, his momentary anger seemingly dissolved.

And it is, it's completely gone. Sure, the last few days have been frustrating, the last few weeks, if he's honest – Emma's constant claim that life in New York was so much better than here, so much safer... and _of course_ she has only her lad's best in mind. All his attempts to get her to be honest to _herself_ have been in vain, dismissed with rude words. Just like she's rudely dismissed him, again and again. Mocked him for his one-handedness when he was trying to help, flippantly waved him off when he offered to comfort Henry after Bae's passing, gladly declared him untrustworthy after he'd struggled to keep her safe from the Wicked Witch's curse. He'd be lying if he said her words and actions didn't hurt him.

He knows, of course, the reason for her behavior: she's been pushing him away since he brought her back to Storybrooke, because she's scared – scared of finding everything she's ever been looking for, because finding it means she could lose it again. Scared of her feelings for him, those feelings that are there, that he's sure of. Alas, it's obvious that she isn't ready for any of it. Oh, he knows exactly what she's feeling, because he's been there, too: daring to care for someone again after years – or, in his case, centuries – of closing off your heart in self-protection, daring to hope for a happy ending... it's the scariest thing he's ever experienced. And Emma Swan... she just isn't there yet. He knows it, he accepts it – he has to, there is no other way than to give her the time and space she needs, and face the risk that she never might get there. He has to let her go, because he loves her – it's useless denying it, he's confessed it already aloud, he can't and doesn't want to pretend it never happened.

But he's only human, even if he saw himself as some sort of monster for a long time, and so – yes, he was angry for a minute. Angry that she claims for herself the right to leave everyone behind, just because she isn't ready to face life and accept the second chance she's given – but on the other hand scolds him because she thinks he's leaving, too. Angry that she seems to think he's at her beck and call any time, ready to let her pick him up to play when she's in the mood and drop him like a hot potato when she sees fit. But on the other hand... what could look like a selfish attitude, gives him also some sort of hope, very unexpectedly.

He scrutinizes her closely, registers the way her shoulders are hunched a little, her hands knotted together in her lap, her expression more disillusioned than upset now – it looks a lot like she's indeed afraid, but not only of her feelings and everything she's been afraid of before... it looks like maybe, just _maybe_ she's afraid... to lose him. Or is that just wishful thinking?

Emma's anger has evaporated, too. She realizes that she's sort of betrayed herself by attacking him for his supposed plans to leave. He's still looking at her with that unreadable expression of his, waiting for her to answer his question... and she can't. She can't, because she doesn't know. She doesn't know what it is they're talking – _arguing_ – about here.

“Nevermind,” she finally manages to get out in a feeble voice, “I guess I just... just... didn't expect...” She waves her hand vaguely at him and falls silent with a sinking feeling in her stomach, because this is getting more and more awkward, and awkwardness is something she _never_ felt with him. But now she has the impression that she's talking herself more and more into trouble with every word, because he's right – what kind of talk is it she's trying to have? And what right does she have to question him? The answer is, she has _no_ right. No right to ask him to stay, let alone demand it from him – nor any right to be angry at him for wanting to leave, or even to be disappointed. Because, if she's honest with herself – and she's been practicing that lately – she has to admit that she's never given him any reason to stay by her side; on the contrary, she's done her best to push him away, to make it clear to him that she doesn't want anything from him... and yet, he _has_ stayed, until now.

She's surprised how much it hurts now, to imagine that she won't be seeing him around every day, and she wonders where that hurt comes from. She has a suspicion, but she doesn't want to go there, because it's pointless. She draws a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to get up and leave him alone, leave him to whatever business he has to do to get his ship ready or whatever.

Killian sees it, sees the hurt in her expression and then the closing off, and if there's anything he can't bear, then it's seeing Emma Swan hurt and knowing he's the one to put that pain on her face. Even if she's probably heading out of town tomorrow, she needs to know that he wasn't going to leave her. He can't let her believe that another person she... _cared for_ was going to abandon her. Because _no_ , of bloody _course_ he wasn't.

“Swan,” he stops her when she's just about to get up, and she freezes mid-move, turning to him again with a question in her eyes. “I figured you were going to head to New York any day now,” he says, “so I tried to find out, with Regina's help, how it would be possible for me to leave Storybrooke, so I could...” His words have come out like a waterfall, unusually uncoordinated for him, and now he doesn't know how to continue without scaring her off even more.

Emma stares at him in confusion, feeling completely dumbfounded. She doesn't understand where he's aiming at. “So you could what,” she blurts out in frustration, “...follow me?” It's meant to be a rhetoric question, because of course he wouldn't... but when he doesn't reply, and averts his eyes, his hand coming up to scratch behind his ear, her eyes widen in disbelief when she realizes the truth. “You were going to _follow_ me?” she repeats.

Killian sighs. On the one hand, he's glad that she knows, on the other hand – knowing what he's planning to do could frighten her, make her walls go back up again – not that they were really down yet. He tilts his head in a shrug. “My business with the Crocodile is done,” he explains soberly, “and I have no further bonds to Storybrooke.” She stares at him with an open-mouthed expression, trying to process what he's telling her. “I feel I have already overstayed my welcome,” he continues, trying to sound nonchalant, “and I supposed New York is as good a place as any.”

“Overstayed your welcome?” she echoes and shakes her head in disbelief. “You're aware that you helped defeat the latest threat to the town and save my brother's life?” she asks, and this time she isn't so sure it's a rhetoric question, because he seems indeed completely unaware of how much he has done for her family, for the entire town lately. “You're a _hero_ now,” she tells him, her voice firm but soft.

Killian shakes his head once. “Hardly,” he contradicts and adds matter-of-factly, “It was your and Regina's magic that defeated the Wicked Witch.”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe, but I wouldn't even have been here to do that if it wasn't for you. And everybody knows that.” _Everybody but you_ , she thinks and asks herself how he would know – as nobody ever seemed to have cared to thank him for anything, or even let him know how much his help and he as a person were appreciated. Including herself. All the change in him, the good and selfless things he did – they have all been taken for granted by everyone, but the moment he made a debatable decision (like hiding the Wicked Witch's curse from them), everyone was all too eager to slip back into the _shouldn't-have-trusted-the-pirate_ routine.

He waves his hand, clearly uncomfortable, and Emma's heart grows heavy, because she knows the feeling – of worthlessness – all too well. “Anyway. My apologies if–“

“I'm not leaving,” Emma interrupts.

He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

“I'm not leaving,” she repeats. “Henry and I are going to stay in Storybrooke. For good.” Strangely, every time she says that, it seems less weird and terrifying.

He narrows his eyes and leans a little forward, not sure he's heard right. “You're not–?” He doesn't dare to believe his ears at first, but she shakes her head. “But I thought you were going to run until you found–“

“A place I'd miss, I know.” Emma nods, then she shrugs. “The thing is... Storybrooke _is_ that place for Henry. His entire family is here. I can't take that away from him.” The hint of a smile crinkles the fine skin around his eyes, and after a short pause, she draws a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.” She hesitates, frightened by her own courage, because she didn't plan to open up that much, and she doesn't know what it is about him that pushes her to reveal so much of herself. Killian doesn't reply, he just scrutinizes her and waits patiently until she goes on. “You were right,” she finally admits, “My plans to leave were not due to what I thought was best for Henry, at least not mostly. It was about me.” She shrugs. “For all my life I've been alone and on my own, and the thought of suddenly being a part of something, having a family, friends, people who... who _care_ about me and who I care about...” She interrupts herself with a nervous little laugh before she explains honestly, “That's terrifying. But... it's a fact that I _have_ all of that now, and if that doesn't come closer to a home than anything I knew so far, then I don't know.” She raises her chin in a gesture that reminds Killian very much of her mother. “So, I'm willing to give it a try. For Henry's sake, and for mine.”

She looks relieved, and Killian has the impression that she put all of that in words for the very first time, perhaps also admitting it to herself for the very first time. He can only imagine how much courage that cost her, and his heart goes out to this fierce warrior princess and the lost girl who took that leap of faith – to try and make a home instead of running from it, and to voice those fears.

He tilts his head and smiles. “You made the right choice, Swan,” he tells her. “For the both of you.”

Emma nods thoughtfully. “Who knows. Maybe this... this patch of dirt can become home for me, too.” She sways her arm in an all-encompassing gesture and then combs her hair behind her ears with both hands. “I mean, the other day you told me I could be a part of... all this. And some time ago, I said the same thing to you, and you... you listened to me.” He scratches behind his ears and averts his eyes for a moment when he remembers the occasion. “And maybe if you could make that choice, to be a part of something, after all these years of being alone... I can do it, too?” She smiles, still a bit insecure and skeptical.

Killian thinks back to that memorable day when she offered him the chance to do the right thing and be a part of something, instead of continuing to be alone. It took some time before her words reached his heart, he almost used the magic bean he'd stolen from her, but then he couldn't. He couldn't let another boy get lost, especially not a boy who had just lost his father. He thought of the boy Bae, dragged away by Pan's brigade, of a sleeping boy on a ship who woke up to his father gone, and finally of another sleeping boy who had to wake up to find his father murdered in the night. For the sake of all of them, and for the sake of Emma Swan's son, he saved the magic bean and turned his ship around and his life, too – telling himself that maybe it wasn't too late for him... maybe there was still a chance for him to become the man he'd always wanted to be. It was a good feeling, letting hope in again, but it was also, yes, outright terrifying.

He nods. “I know it isn't easy,” he tells Emma and smiles. “But I'm bloody sure you can do it, Swan.”

She presses her lips into a smile and tilts her head, his encouraging words from another occasion ringing in the back of her mind: _I have yet to see you fail..._ She's not gonna lie, his constant and unwavering support of her and belief in her has helped her more than once to overcome her insecurities and fear when it came to fight battles against villains. He always seems to provide exactly what she needs, exactly in the right moment. Even if sometimes she doesn't know herself what it is that she needs.

“Were you really going to follow me?” she asks with an incredulous shake of her head and then smiles when he averts his eyes. “Thanks for having my back,” she tells him honestly, and then suddenly a strange feeling takes hold of her, and something crosses her mind. She tries to wrap her mind around it and frowns. “But I'm wondering... why would you even ask Regina?” She looks at him inquiringly when her thoughts become clear and logical in her head. “I mean... your ship's made of enchanted wood, right? We know you can leave town, you already did when you went after Gold in New York – you sailed.” Her voice is pensive, almost like she's talking to herself.

Killian scratches behind his ear and looks away, clearly uncomfortable now. “Ah... true, yeah,” he manages, strangely tongue-tied. “Hmmm, you know, with villains and curses and all, I guess it just...” – he gesticulates vaguely – “It just slipped my mind.” Finally he lifts his eyes to hers again and grins sheepishly, but the grin doesn't reach his eyes.

Emma narrows her eyes when it hits her unmistakably. “You're lying.” It's an assessment, not a question. His face falls. “This is about what happened during the last year, isn't it?” she persists.

His face falls. “Swan...”

She leans forward and searches his eyes, urging, “What are you hiding from me?”

“Didn't you tell me only a few days ago that you were tired of living in the past?” he retorts. “That it doesn't matter?”

“But this isn't the past,” she argues, “This is _now_.” It pains her almost physically to see him cringe and avoid her gaze as it's vivid proof of the distance his secret is putting between them, and she just can't have that, not when she was just about to... “Please, I have to know,” she interrupts her own thoughts in an almost imploring voice. “I've been honest with you, now I need you to be honest with me.” She can see him fight with himself, but he still hesitates, so she goes on, “Your ship can travel from Storybrooke to the Land Without Magic,” she says matter-of-factly, “but it cannot travel realms, not without a portal, right?” Finally, his eyes are looking at her again, but he still doesn't reply. “When you came for me and Henry,” Emma continues relentlessly, “you weren't with your ship. Why?”

Killian sighs deeply. He never wanted to reveal it, simply because he once promised to win Emma Swan's heart without any trickery. And because there's a good chance that knowing what he did for her would frighten her so much that it could drive here away beyond any reach. But he also knows that he can't hide the truth from her, not if she really insists on having it. So he draws a deep breath and starts to lay bare his secret.

“It's no big deal, really,” he tries to play it down. “I needed a portal, right.” He tilts his head. “As luck would have it, I crossed paths with someone who was in possession of a magic bean... and in need of a vessel.” He averts his eyes again, irrationally hoping she might just let it go or simply not understand what that means. In a desperate attempt to save the situation, to make it less heavy and meaningful, he shrugs with a grin that feels false on his lips. “Fastest deal I ever made.”

Her eyes widen, grow big as jade marbles, and her mouth falls open in disbelief, because of course she's aware of the meaning of his words. Her voice is almost toneless when she finally finds words to say. “You traded your _ship_ for me?”

Killian shrinks a little, the shock in her voice doing nothing to calm his nerves. In a moment of utter panic he contemplates playing it light, making a joke of it, but then he opts for honesty. There's no use in hiding it any longer anyway, whatever the consequences may be, she knows the truth now. He raises his head to look at her in an utterly serious, almost apologetic way, and nods once, slowly. “Aye.”

Emma's thoughts are whirling, the blood rushing through her veins, causing a deafening swoosh in her ears as the scales fall from her eyes. That is why she often found him at the docks, but never saw his ship since her return from New York. Why he's always at Granny's, why he has a _room_ there – because he has no other place to go to, no other room to sleep. Because while she's been struggling to find out where and if ever she could find a home for herself, he's been without his – because he'd given it away, so he could bring her back to hers. Not for the sake of her family, for the sake of breaking a curse or for his own sake – no, for her alone. She remembers his words, spoken over a tumbler of rum from the bottle she kept in her New York apartment – the bottle she didn't remember buying, because rum had never been her drink... yet something must have pushed her to buy it. _I came back to save you._

She looks at him with wide eyes, her disbelief slowly fading into acceptance and wonder. His ship, his home. She swallows, her throat dry all of a sudden. When she speaks, her voice comes out croakily, barely more than a whisper. “Don't... don't you miss it?”

Killian tilts his head, a very tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Every day,” he admits and shakes his head once. “But not as much as I'd miss you.” His eyes rest upon her with a profound melancholy in them, but bare of even the tiniest hint of regret, and that is what makes her crumble in the end. It's not like she's losing the fight with her feelings – she just gives it up.

A tear slips down Emma's cheek, and even though he has sworn to himself he wouldn't do anything she could perceive as pressure, as an unwelcome approach that could make her retreat into her shell, Killian can't help himself – he raises his hand to her face and gently brushes his thumb across her cheek to wipe away that errant tear. “She was just a ship,” he says softly, “A few planks of wood and a sail.”

She lets out a little snort, something between a sob and a laugh, and he starts to reluctantly withdraw his hand. But then the most surprising thing happens when she shifts closer to him on the bench, gravitating his way and leaning forward, her cheek following his fingertips as if she's chasing his touch. He stops his movement, terrified almost, when her face is so close to his that he can feel her breath on his lips. Her tear-brimmed eyes are fixed on his, and now he stops breathing.

Emma exhales slowly in relief, as if she's made a decision and a heavy load is falling from her shoulders. “Why do you have to be like this?” she murmurs, but it doesn't sound accusing, and then she tilts her head to the left, deliberately leaning into his touch now. And after a short glance at his mouth she closes the last tiny bit of distance and touches her lips to his.

As shocked as he is by her unexpected move – before he can think of what to do, how to react now, his heart and his instincts take the helm, pushing his fear and caution out of the way. So, he responds to her kiss, slowly and carefully, because how on Earth could he not? He feels the warmth of her hands through the layers of clothing on his chest where she laid them, but unlike that other time when she kissed him, her fingers are not grasping his lapels as if she's trying to keep herself from retreating. No, this time her palms are resting against his pounding heart, her fingers spread like wings, completely relaxed and at ease. And finally, some of that ease she transpires engulfs him and encourages him, telling him that this – this is what she really wants; _he_ is what she really wants. His fingers, still resting against her cheek, find their way slowly, tenderly across her jaw until they come to a halt at the back of her neck, combing into her soft hair. He curls his fingertips a little and presses them lightly into her scalp, just a tiny bit, to show her that he's there to hold her.

He knows how she kisses... or so he thought. That one time back in Neverland was frantic, all-consuming, scorching... but this time? Oh, it's not less intense, by no means, that's not it. But this time it's _intimate_. Slow and soft, and full of meaning. Of promises. Fragile, yet firm. _Determined_. Her kiss in Neverland was a determined move, too, but that determination waned as quickly as it had flared up in her eyes right before she'd grabbed him. This time...

Fear grips his heart and twists his guts when Emma slowly lets go of his lips and tilts her head back a little bit. He swallows hard, his skin burning and prickling, his blood rushing in his ears. The seconds are ticking away, are turning into ages as he looks into her eyes and waits for her to say something, to pull back, to shake her head and push him away... her green eyes are still sparkly with the unshed tears from before, and his heart grows heavy, so heavy... but then she does the unbelievable thing again and smiles. Her lips, that have been caressing his a mere few seconds ago, pull into a tiny, almost shy smile. Her eyes drop briefly to his mouth again and then look back into his, one slow blink of her lids sending him an unspoken invitation.

And just like that, his fear subsides, and his nerves calm. His heart and stomach keep fluttering, but mostly for different reasons now, and without noticing, he lets out the same exhale of relief as Emma before, as he finally dares to smile back. His fingers still curled at the back of her neck, he pulls her forward a little, encouraged by her smile, and she eagerly follows. Their lips meet again, and this time, he doesn't remain as passive as before... Killian doesn't just respond to the kiss or simply return it, this time he kisses her _back_. Still carefully, still slowly, but very thoroughly and with a new found confidence. There's a new depth behind this kiss, and even though it's still not as frantic and scorching as back in Neverland, it holds a promise of that passion, of more – _much_ more.

When they break apart this time to catch some air, it happens very reluctantly, and their foreheads remain leaned together, her hands still resting against his chest. Emma still smiles, and there's no reluctance, no awkwardness in her look, no avoiding his gaze.

They remain still like this for a while, both basking in the warmth that blooms inside them and surrounds them all at once.

But then, eventually someone needs to say something, and Emma takes that part. “Before you ask me...” she begins, and the huskiness in her voice makes his heart soar, “I don't know what that was... or what this is, or what it's gonna be...” she pauses and blinks, but oddly enough, it doesn't make him nervous at all. “I just know one thing,” she continues, “whatever it is... I don't want it to be a one-time thing.”

She averts her eyes for a moment, a rosy blush tinging her cheeks, and when she looks back at him, tentatively almost, he understands. He understands what a huge leap of faith for her this really is. Despite all his barely hidden chasing of her affection, despite his admission that he was going to follow her to New York (and he knows he'd follow her to the end of the world, if he had to), she still isn't sure that he won't reject her. It's simply because she's Emma Swan, and she hasn't experienced anything than rejection almost for her whole life. She's in the middle of the process of realizing that she isn't alone anymore, that she doesn't have to be, but she's got still a long way ahead, and the lost little girl, it's still living there inside, behind those huge green eyes searching his.

He smiles and slides his hand carefully from her hair, resting his palm against her jaw and his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “Good,” he answers her unspoken question, and her eyes twinkle as she nods once.

“Good,” she replies and then sighs, leaning back a little and letting her hands fall from his chest. “As much as I'd love to stay here cozy with you all day... they're waiting for us at the celebration.”

Killian frowns in confusion. “The celebration?” he echoes.

“My parents' celebration,” she reminds him. “The naming ceremony for my brother. Apparently, that's a thing in the Enchanted Forest...” She interrupts herself and narrows her eyes. “Wait, why am I telling you this, you're from there, you should know more about it than me.”

“I do indeed, love, but I don't know...” he sways his head from side to side, “A pirate at a royal festivity? What am I supposed to do?”

Emma smiles and gets up from the bench. “Blend in?”

He rises to his feet automatically, it's the gentleman in him that can't remain seated when his lady – _his lady!_ The thought makes him delightfully dizzy – is on her feet, but he still hesitates. Averting his eyes, he scratches briefly behind his ear. “I don't know, Swan...”

“Hey, let's face it,” she says almost severely, “You and me, we're both a part of something now.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow at her, delighted about the lightness and naturalness in her voice, like she's completely at ease with all of this. “Whatever it is?” he questions.

She simply reaches out for him and laces her right arm through his hooked one, a weirdly old-fashioned gesture for her and thus all the more endearing to him.

“Whatever it is.”

 


End file.
